Major Asset
by cate's corner
Summary: A short one shot, set after Search and Rescue. John's first stint at babysitting isn't going well. Who can he call for backup? Who else, but good old Uncle Evan.


Major Asset by catescorner

Hello, folks! Yes, I'm back - and after all the angst from The Ties That Bind, I'm back into lighter, 'missing scene mode'.

You'll have noticed a bit of a pattern, in that this latest story again has Evan and John taking centre stage. I can't help it, they were always my favourites, and I just wish their friendship had been explored more in the series. That's why I have so much fun when I write them into my stories.

This one is set a couple of months after Search And Rescue, so there's spoilers to that episode. Doppelganger, Quarantine, and Critical Mass also come in for a quick mention too, as Evan comes home from his first mission after his injury. If he's expecting a peaceful night, though - well, sorry, Evan, but you're about to be rudely interrupted!

Oh, and since his nephews were never named in the series, I've given them two of my own - and one will sound oddly familiar ;o)

Enjoy!

Major Asset

His quarters, more especially his bed, had never looked so good to Evan Lorne's exhausted body. Forget changing, it was too much effort. He'd almost ended up on the floor, just tugging off his boots. And if he took a shower, he'd wake up under a trickle of icy water, shrivelled to a frozen human prune.

No, he was going to just wash off the worst of the paint that still smudged his face, then hit that beautiful bunk of sheets and pillows, and sleep until Christmas.

The mission hadn't been dangerous, as such. There'd been no bullets. No Wraith. No stunners. There'd just been… _kids_. Loads of 'em, each with more energy than Andy and Kevin put together. And since he'd been on a diplomatic mission, maintaining relations with their allies on M7G 677 – well, however much they'd deserved it, he couldn't _really_ go into Uncle Evan mode, and order his host's kids to go to their rooms.

Instead, he'd indulged them, let them climb all over him, and use him as their personal playmat, as sweetly as his patience allowed – all the time thinking that he was either getting old, or he'd been away from the boys for too long.

Maybe a bit of both, he thought dryly, smiling at their latest photo as, still towelling his hair, he nosedived into his pillows. They were growing up so fast, changing every time he saw them, and… oh, you _had_ to be kidding!

*chirp*

"G 'way, I'm sleeping."

*chirp*

"Aw, gimme a break! It's someone else's turn to save the galaxy!"

*chirp*

Groaning in dismay, Evan tugged the towel further over his head and, in vain, clamped one of his pillows on top.

"So help me, you go off again, I'm gonna shoot you."

But then it buzzed a fourth time, carrying a voice that he knew he didn't dare blast into oblivion. It had been bad enough last time, on that freezing floor, and… yeah, he was in bare feet again. _Damn_.

"Lorne, I need you, my quarters. _ASAP._"

Cranking an eye open, Evan stared at his comms unit with a mixture of dread and dismay. His CO had sounded strangely panicky – which, around here, could mean any number of things. And who did he call, _always_, when things went screwy? Well, it sure as hell wasn't Ghostbusters.

Muttering that it wasn't fair, and he was _waaaaaay_ overdue for promotion, Evan tossed his pillow and towel aside and crawled back out of bed – dryly noting that if his CO really _was_ in trouble, at least he was still in his field gear, _and_ his TAC vest. As he'd quickly discovered, you never knew when a torch, and some bricks of C4, might come in handy.

Tugging on his socks and boots '…_no way am I doing that again_…' he then headed to his CO's quarters, its door already responding, for its own self preservation, to the mental command that he threw towards it.

'_Open_, _now. There_'_s_ _C4 in my pocket_, _and I_'_m_ _cranky enough to use it._'

Then he caught sight of his CO, and all trace of annoyance did a complete, 180 degree turnaround.

He'd faced the Wraith. The Genii. Just about every enemy the Pegasus galaxy could throw at him. But his fearless leader had been undone, completely defeated, by the smallest, unlikeliest one yet.

Nicely decorated, too. Squirted with something suspiciously yellow, smeared with baby milk, and topped with powder. Sweet.

To hell with his legendary self control, Evan's reaction was inevitable. Unfortunately, so was John Sheppard's.

"You so much as _think_ about smirking, I'll bust you down to grease monkey. Now, get in here, before anyone sees m-you."

Smirk wisely contained, if barely, Evan followed the controller of his future rank into his quarters – allowing himself just a smile at the chaos around them, and the many memories that it brought back. Those heady first days of uncle-hood, filled with paint for the nursery, and baby oil, and powder, and –

"_Waaaaaaaaaahh_!"

– oh yeah, to go with the relief for Kevin's safe arrival, there'd been that, more than _anything_ else.

"He's been doing that all evening. I've fed him, too, and… and everything," John explained through an eloquent wince, holding Torren away from him, as if he were handling a wailing, wriggling crate of C4. "I mean, Teyla left instructions with him, but-"

Threat of demotion regardless, Evan couldn't help but grin back at his unnaturally flustered CO.

"_Instructions_? John, he's a _baby_, he doesn't come with a manual, and… here, give him to me."

Great. His night of peaceful sleep was ruined, and now he had his arms full of screaming, stinky baby. Still, it had its unexpected upsides.

"If you can get him to stop that, and change his diaper… I'll do your paperwork. For a week."

Evan's grin widened. Ooooh, bargaining power! A rare privilege. And he knew _just_ how to use it

"_Two_ weeks."

A pause, followed by a glaring threat that had his big, brave, and perenially sneaky CO eating out of his hand.

"And no sneaking it back into _my_ trays either, or he comes back to you. _Fully_ loaded."

Somewhere in this situation, John Sheppard dryly reflected, he'd lost his knack for negotiation. He was three years older than his XO, four inches taller, _and_ he had the advantage of rank seniority. So how the hell had that XO managed to haggle seven days of dreaded paperwork into fourteen?

No chance of dodging it either. A glare that could stop a charging Wraith in its tracks had seen to that.

The answer was simple. It was why he'd called Evan Lorne down to his quarters in the first place. The proudest uncle in two galaxies was a dab hand at soothing wailing babies. _And_ changing diapers. And to his CO's envious amazement, he'd come through the whole process without a single squirt.

"How the hell did you _do_ that?" he asked at last, staring at his friend in genuine admiration. Aside from rolled up sleeves, and a few powder smudges on his arms, there wasn't a mark on him.

And was there really any need for him to look so damn smug about it?

"When you start babysitting your first nephew, you pick it up pretty fast," Evan grinned, giving his now happily gurgling counterpart a final check, before lifting Torren onto his shoulder. "Yeah, that's gotta feel better. Should see you through to the next one."

Against the open pleasure on his face, John Sheppard's now blanched with dreaded disbelief.

"The – The _next_ one?"

Between pulling baby faces, that had Torren giggling too, the grin grew impishly wider.

"Yep. Depending when you last fed him, should be… oh, another three hours or so."

Staring at the empty bottle beside him, John said the first, and only, thing that came to mind.

"Aw, _crap._"

"Yeah, you can expect plenty more of that," Evan chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself – finally taking pity on his friend, whose face had now turned the same shade of green as his eyes. "Should _just_ be able to fit the last 49ers game in, before we have to change him again."

Seizing on that plural word, like he'd found the last lifebelt on the Titanic, John grinned back. He'd wanted to watch his own home team, but if it kept his friend around to change those damn diapers… hell, they'd watch the 49ers all night.

By the time he'd cued the game in, Evan had settled himself comfortably on the couch, gently bouncing Torren on his right knee, while gingerly stretching his other leg in front of him.

Noticing a wince that he probably wasn't meant to see, John nudged a small stool against it – returning a grateful smile with a casual shrug that hid deeper concerns, as well as painful memories.

They'd almost died in that cave-in. Even now, two months later, it still haunted both of them. And while he'd come through his injuries relatively easily, Evan Lorne's had taken longer to heal, both physically and mentally.

Compounded by a dislocated knee, it had been a bad break. The kind that didn't heal overnight. Despite weeks of typically dogged therapy, it wasn't _quite_ back to the strength that he needed for full duty.

That's why he'd sent him to M7G 677. A safe, but still crucial mission, to keep him usefully occupied. The most obvious one, too, since Evan's affinity with children was as natural as his legendary patience – traits that now earned his friend a new nickname, kept wisely silent, behind a brotherly proud smile.

Major Asset. Professionally and otherwise… yeah, it suited Evan Lorne to a perfect T.

Judging by the contented smile on his face, so did being a godfather. An increasingly _sleepy_ godfather. Slouched snugly down beside him, his leg propped on its stool, and cradling Torren against his chest – yeah, John gleefully noted, there was no doubt about it, those eyelids were _definitely_ starting to droop.

Still watching his friend, he then reached stealthily behind him, to silently retrieve his camera, as amused as he was relieved that, with his eyes fully closed, Evan now seemed to be sound asleep. A few more minutes, and he'd have enough blackmailable goodies to re-negotiate that paperwork, maybe get out of doing it completely, and –

"Do it, and I'll tell the whole base how you _really_ get your hair to go like that."

– damn, he had superhero powers too now, uncle vision, that let him see through his eyelids?

One of them peeled open now, revealing the playful mischief that made Evan Lorne so deceptively dangerous. His next words, though, as he stretched fully awake again, were genuinely encouraging. And, to a nervous first timer, a real relief too, as he gently passed Torren into his _other_ uncle's arms.

"It's an uncle thing. Don't worry, you'll soon get the hang of it."

Grinning back at him, all thought of blackmail forgotten, John settled back to enjoy a true rarity. A moment of peaceful calm, where he could just kick back, and relax with one of his closest friends. If these were the moments that uncle-hood would bring him, then he'd cherish every one of them.

"_Waaaaaaaaaahh_!"

Green eyes met blue, in a wincing glance of weary resignation, as Torren let rip with another ear-splitting wail. Well, except for that bit.


End file.
